


Gold and Bronze

by sk8rpssockpup (MissIzzy)



Series: Remnants of a Real-Time Series [2]
Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: 2007 Cup of China, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-11-18
Updated: 2007-11-18
Packaged: 2018-01-01 15:43:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1045665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissIzzy/pseuds/sk8rpssockpup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He'd only intended to see how Stephane was doing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gold and Bronze

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place after the men's free at 2007 Cup of China.

When Johnny Weir had imagined this night, which he'd actually somewhat romantically pictured as happening in Russia instead of China, he'd assumed his emotions would be pretty uncomplicated. Surely his first victory in two and a half years should be accompanied only by overwhelming joy, he thought.  
  
There was joy. Even at his scores, when he hadn't yet been sure if they'd get him silver or gold, because they'd been so good he hadn't cared. Then five minutes later when it had been gold, and later still when he'd been standing on that podium thinking  _This isn't real._  
  
But part of the reason for the sense of unreality wasn't happy at all. The two men below him were in the wrong order. It wasn't that he didn't respect Evan's abilities, really it wasn't, even if they hadn't managed to beat him today and Johnny really was feeling a little smug about that. It was that on his other side, Stephane Lambiel had stood there, managing a smile only half of the time, and even then he'd held the posture of a dead man. There was no way Johnny wouldn't recognize that stance; it had become very familiar to him the past year.  
  
Reality had a few complications as well. He'd won partly by luck, Evan was now acting friendly but only when Johnny was behind him in the standings, which was just annoying, and Melissa and Denis were still in pain and were putting off deciding about Russia for a few more days but after that last phone conversation Johnny was starting to suspect they weren't going to make it. He himself was going to have a lot of work to do once he got there.  
  
But that wasn't what occupied his mind as he lay awake hours later. That all lay blanketed beneath the general feeling of happiness that still clung to him like the most gentle of lovers, but still could not keep one image from haunting him: Stephane Lambiel sitting in the kiss and cry after his free skate, staring out at nothing, looking too down to even cry. He'd seen it even while he was warming up just before his own free skate, and rejected it as too distracting, only to have it burrow down into his memory to hang over him afterwards, when he'd been backstage waiting for Evan to finish skating and for both their fates to be decided. Now it wouldn't go away, and it wouldn't let him sleep. It made him think too much of his own past year, which he was trying to forget.  
  
When he finally gave up on sleep and wandered out of the hotel room, he headed to Stephane's room without really thinking about it. He was out of the elevator with the door in sight when he finally did think about it and stop to ask himself what he was doing.  
  
"I'm just seeing if he's all right," he said out loud. "I know what this can feel like, after all."  
  
Though he might be asleep, he thought. Johnny himself wouldn't have been, but then again he'd been suffering from insomnia for years, so that didn't mean anything. But even so, Johnny somehow felt that Stephane Lambiel, right now, was not asleep.  
  
He stood in front of his door for some time. Did Stephane want company? Was he in an bad mental state where he wanted company but would reject it anyway? That was all too possible.  
  
"I won't take it personally if he rejects me," he finally said, because he was getting the feeling it might matter to him more than he would want it to, and knocked on the door.  
  
 _"Entrez donc,"_  called a dull voice from inside. Johnny had to stop himself from flinging the door open with his concern.  
  
He was lying on the bed, on top of the sheets, still in his clothes from the press conference. He looked up in mild surprise. "Johnny?"  
  
"You're not even trying to sleep?" Johnny asked, closing the door behind him.  
  
"Too tired to sleep, if that makes sense."  
  
"Believe me, it does. Mind if I sit down?"  
  
Stephane shifted to the far side of the bed and gestured. Johnny hesitated, but then remembered nights lying alone on hotel room beds. He saw his companion's surprise when he actually lay himself down across from him. But he saw the gratitude as well. "Thank you. It is...harder to be alone than I thought it would be."  
  
"It always is," Johnny told him. "I know a big part of you probably doesn't want to see me right now, though. I'm sorry Evan isn't a nicer person."  
  
"Are you better then him?" Stephane pointed out. "Or are you generous tonight because you won?"  
  
"Probably the latter," Johnny admitted. "There's a dilemma for you."  
  
"Not really. I would rather lay here with you than with Lysacek."  
  
"Thanks." Johnny felt himself blush a little.  
  
"Of course," he continued, "it helped that you were so kind to me on the podium, and he was such a sore loser. I want to thank you for that."  
  
"Well, I probably should stay in your good graces, since I'm going up against you again in two weeks." He chuckled. Stephane looked more glum. "Aren't I?" he asked, genuinely unsure of the answer.  
  
Stephane looked down at his knees; Johnny saw him flex them carefully. "I hope so. I cannot say for sure."  
  
That was another thing Johnny knew all too well, when your body turned on you, but he was suddenly aware that this might be something he hadn't experienced, and to continue this conversation, he needed to know immediately if it was. "Stephane," he asked cautiously, the man's name feeling strangely intimate on his tongue, "how bad is it?"  
  
"Not as bad as your back was..." Stephane started.  
  
"Bullshit. I was young back then. If that happened to me now I'd probably be done for. Do you think this might end it for you?" There. Asked. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to." Stephane was actually younger than him by about a year. Johnny didn't want to think about what it would have been like if he'd had to retire exactly a year ago. And health issues were all that might keep Stephane from continuing longer than Johnny, probably, with noone in his home country itching to unseat him from the top.  
  
"I don't know." Stephane sounded so frightened Johnny regretted being so nosy for a moment, but then he thought it might be a relief for Stephane to talk to someone. "They should heal, at least enough, but the pain may never go away entirely. And then...it may come down to whether I have the will for it. You should not feel sorry for me, you know; I am still satisfied with all I have done. I want to keep on skating, but..."  
  
Johnny felt the urge to touch those knees, to sooth them somehow, but that felt a little dangerous, so he stayed put. "You want to keep competing, you mean," he clarified.  
  
"Yes. But if there are many more nights like this...I may not be as strong as you were, Johnny." Again, Johnny felt a strange tingle at hearing Stephane say his name like that, when they were on top of a bedspread like this. It was a little unnerving, which made it a relief when he asked, "How are your husband and wife? I heard about what happened to them, of course."  
  
"They're fine. Still a little bruised and sore, but they've actually decided this was a sign. They've decided they need to make some more changes, and this gives them an opportunity. It's enough to make you believe everything really does happen for the best."  
  
"How is this for the best?" Stephane asked, and Johnny immediately felt guilty.  
  
"Well, noone's expecting you to see the good side of this tonight, Stephane. Anything good that could happen to you as soon as tonight probably wouldn't be worth this competition. But in the long run...maybe. It took me the entire season to understand why I skated badly at every competition I entered last year. But I needed the lesson to be that harsh, or I might not have learned it."  
  
"You are not very kind to yourself."  
  
"I'm not very nice to myself," Johnny corrected him. "But hey, if I had been nicer, I don't think I would have a gold medal back in my hotel room."  
  
"A sentiment shared by us all." And then he smiled, a real smile, the likes of which Johnny hadn't seen on him since he'd gotten here. It reminded Johnny, too, of what a beautiful man he was, with his dark eyes and hair and handsome cheekbones.  
  
The smile faded a little, turned wistful, but he still looked lighter. "I am going to try at least. For maybe a little longer. If I beat you in Russia, I know I will have accomplished something."  
  
"Well, I should hope so," said Johnny, and he leaned forward and kissed Stephane on the lips.  
  
If anyone had asked him afterwards exactly why he had done it, he probably would have said it was because Stephane was looking at him with a slight smirk, and with the spark just beginning to creep back into his eyes, begging to be drawn further out. He knew better why he didn't draw back after a moment, as he'd originally intended to do: because he felt something stir inside him, a feeling he didn't quite recognize, but it kept him on those lips, until he was continuing to kiss Stephane because Stephane's mouth was opening for him and his hands were pulling Johnny's head to him, followed by the rest of him.  
  
He was on top of Stephane, pressing himself down onto his warm body while sucking in his tongue, when the realization of what he was about to do came, followed, of course, by  _I shouldn't be doing this._  But then,  _Why not? It's probably just a one-night stand; he could use it, and I just did that in Japan, right?_  
  
 _"Tu..."_  Stephane gasped when they broke for air, and Johnny was lost completely to think he'd reduced Stephane beyond English already. He felt Stephane's hands fumble with his shirt, slide under it without even bothering to take it off, clamber over his chest until his fingers rubbed his nipples.  _Whatever he wants,_  Johnny thought.  _I can give him whatever he needs tonight._  
  
"Please touch me," Stephane whispered, and Johnny pulled Stephane's shirt up to his neck and ran his hands over his chest, following them with his mouth. He felt Stephane's hand curl around his neck, press itself against his pulse, which hammered below his elegant fingers. He continued to touch, unsure where to go, somehow hesitant to travel downwards, lingering on Stephane's shoulders and forearms.  
  
 _"Tu as chaud,"_  Stephane murmured, and brought Johnny's head up for another kiss, their tongues dabbing at each other. His hands traveled down Johnny's back, traced over his ass. Johnny moaned softly into his mouth, and again as their groins came into contact; Stephane was hot and hard and when feeling him like this Johnny could no longer escape what this man could do to him.  
  
He had to break the kiss to think of what to do next, especially when breaking their physical contact to get anything was out; then Johnny might think, and right now, he couldn't. Underneath him Stephane's hands were wandering up his sides, making Johnny arch.  _"Ouais..."_  he hissed,  _"J'ai envie de toi."_  
  
He changed directions and slid his hands into the waistband of Johnny's pants. Johnny took a hold of them himself and slid both pants and underwear down. With another quick motion he pulled Stephane's down, until they both had their pants bunched about their knees and Johnny was running his hands over Stephane's dick, enjoying the way it swelled and Stephane moaned, his fingers sinking into Johnny's hips for a moment. Then he whispered,  _"Laissez-moi te toucher,"_  and his hand was on Johnny's dick, fingers stroking up and down. His other hand continued to move, running down Johnny's back as he pressed against Stephane's body, sliding down, slippery from sweat, trying to wrap one arm around Stephane as with the other he worked on his dick.  _"Comme ça_....good?"  
  
"Harder," Johnny grunted, and Stephane started to squeeze. "Oh yeah..." He started to thrust into Stephane's hand, and the two of them set a rhythm, sliding back and forth against each other and they squeezed and pulled, Johnny pressing kisses up and down Stephane's jaw and collarbone with each thrust.  
  
Stephane's hand started to falter, his moans became more erratic. He bent his head urging Johnny to kiss him again, and Johnny plundered his mouth as he felt him come in his hand. Then again Johnny's dick was being squeezed so hard he had to tear his head away as he cried out, until he came at last, clutching at Stephane's neck, head falling against his chest as he went limp.  
  
Too spent to even think of cleaning up, Johnny lay there, hearing Stephane's heart hammer near his ear, trying to figure out what had just hit him. This hadn't felt much like a one-night stand, or at least not the kind of one-night stand he'd be happy leaving as just that. He could try telling himself he had done this to make Stephane feel better but he knew already that was bullshit. He'd wanted this, and he was going to want it again.  
  
When Stephane spoke, he again sounded frightened. "I think... _je t'aime._ " His hand on Johnny's chin bringing Johnny up to look into his eyes, they and a French phrase conveying what, perhaps, Stephane could not quite express in English.  
  
"This isn't good," Johnny said. "For either of us." It wasn't even just the distraction; he knew for a fact that if his heart got broken again he wasn't going to recover. It was a risk he'd told himself he wouldn't take.  
  
"I know. But it may be too late for that. At least for me."  
  
Not for Johnny, it wasn't, not quite. It could become so very quickly, but at this moment he could still walk away, or at least try to. And he thought if he did Stephane would let him without protest. He'd understand exactly why.  
  
But it had already reached the point where Johnny desperately didn't want to.  
  
"I need time," he said at last. "To sleep on it, and train on it, maybe. I think you should do the same, actually."  
  
"You are right," Stephane agreed. "In two weeks, I may indeed think differently."  
  
"Two weeks, then," Johnny said. "We'll spend the time apart, deal with competing against each other just to make sure we can deal with that, and then afterwards we can give each other our answers." He held his hand vaguely in midair. "Agreed?"   
  
"Agree." Stephane took the hand and limply shook it.  
  
"Good. I think we need to clean off." Holding his pants up, he went into the bathroom and ran a pair of towels under the water. He brought them back out and handed one to Stephane, then set to work cleaning himself with the other.  
  
When he was done he started putting his clothes back into place, but was stopped by Stephane's soft, urgent, "Johnny. Tonight? Please-don't go."  
  
Johnny didn't. He lay back down next to Stephane and held him close until he slept.  
  
He really couldn't sleep now. He stared at the clock and watched the minutes change, because it was safer than staring at the man in his arms, but even that didn't do much good in the end. He was too aware of the rhythm of Stephane's breathing, the soft sighs he let out now and then. It wasn't long before Johnny started to fear that for him, too, it was already too late.


End file.
